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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25584091">'S That a Cake?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFrikinAngsty/pseuds/SuperFrikinAngsty'>SuperFrikinAngsty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, fluffy fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:13:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25584091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFrikinAngsty/pseuds/SuperFrikinAngsty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale try baking together. There's more alcohol involved than called for in the recipe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>'S That a Cake?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It turns out, I have a whole cookbook section here in the bookshop!” Aziraphale told Crowley proudly. His voice softened, “And, I got peckish…” Crowley listened to the angel on the other side of the phone ramble on about everything he’s made so far with a soft smile. “And then, once I’ve baked them, I have to eat them all myself,” he pouted. “Which is why I was so delighted–”</p><p>“To send your burglars home laden with baked goods. Yes, I follow,” Crowley shook his head. “You know, I could hunker down at your place.” He shrugged, “Slither over, watch you eat cake, and then bring a bottle of–a case of… something drinkable.”</p><p>“I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules,” Aziraphale stammered. “Out of the question! I’ll see you when this is over,” he said, hoping Crowley would pick up his hints.</p><p>Crowley took in a disappointed breath and stretched out his back as he stood from his throne. “Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, angel.” Aziraphale looked at his phone as the line went dead. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He hurriedly dialed the demon’s phone number again. “What?” he drawled out on the end of the line. “I was just slithering into bed.”</p><p>“Come over at once,” Aziraphale demanded, all attempts at being sly gone.</p><p>Crowley let out a string of surprised noises. “You just told me–”</p><p>“Yes, well, I wasn’t expecting you to actually <em>listen</em> to me, Crowley! You are a demon, you’re supposed to do the opposite of what I tell you.”</p><p>“That’s not how demons work,” Crowley shook his head, smiling nonetheless.</p><p>“It is in this instance. Now come–” he stopped talking as Crowley appeared in his kitchen wearing silken pajamas that were unbuttoned far past scandalous and a bottle of what Aziraphale imagined was something red and expensive. His eyes didn’t make it too far past the pale triangle of skin on the demon’s chest, freckles and a light spattering of red hair capturing his absolute attention. “Over,” he stammered, finishing his sentence, his eyes flicking back up to meet Crowley’s.</p><p>Aziraphale thought he saw a faint blush on Crowley’s cheeks. “Well, I’ve come,” he said, “come over,” he tried to nonchalantly toss in at the end. “Now show me what you’re up to.”</p><p>“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly. “I’ve most recently made what the Americans call ‘Shoofly Pie.’ And it is marvelous, my dear!”</p><p>Crowley raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Fly pie? Sounds appetizing.”</p><p>“Oh, but you must try it!” Aziraphale turned to the pie tin, only to find it empty. “Oh, my,” his voice fell. “It seems I’ve overindulged myself again… I must try to work on that, lest–”</p><p>“Angel, if you say something like ‘<em>lest I get softer</em>,’ I will restart the apocalypse.”</p><p>Aziraphale wrung his hands together in front of his belly. “Gabriel <em>did</em> have a point, my dear, and I have been enjoying a rather large amount of desserts lately…”</p><p>Crowley groaned, ready to smack the daft angel in front of him. (But he didn’t. He only pretended to. In his mind, of course.) “So you enjoy the sweeter sides of life. Who cares? I, for one, like you just the way you are.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s face lit up with a beaming smile. “Oh, thank you!”</p><p>Crowley felt his insides go mushy, and he tried to push the conversation forward before it showed through. “Show me how to make this buggy pie of yours.”</p><p>Aziraphale sent another smile towards Crowley as he hurried to the small fridge that barely clung to life in the corner of the small kitchen. He made several trips, pulling out more ingredients than absolutely possible from the small box. Some of them weren’t even cold, like the flour and salt. Crowley just shrugged the confusion away and miracled an apron onto his lean frame. Aziraphale turned at huffed at the saying on the front of the red apron. “Really, my dear?” He sent an unimpressed gaze across the black lettering spelling out ‘Your Opinion Wasn’t in the Recipe.’</p><p>“I’ve got one for you, too,” Crowley smirked, snapping his fingers. Aziraphale looked down and the tartan patterned apron that read ‘Oh, Crêpe’ and laughed. “Now, how do we start this?”</p><p>Aziraphale took a rolling pin and began instructing Crowley how to roll out the crust. Once that was measured to fit the pan and set to chill in the fridge, he took an old mixing bowl and began unceremoniously tossing ingredients into it. The flour billowed out onto them when he accidentally dropped an entire egg, shell and all, into the bowl. “Oh, drat!”</p><p>“Would you like some help, angel?”</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale batted his hands away. Crowley raised his hands in surrender before backing away.</p><p>“Shall I start the topping, then?” he asked, glancing over the recipe with his ridiculous sunglasses slipping down his nose. Another puff of flour erupted when his glasses slid completely off his face and landed in the mixing bowl. Crowley looked down at them and grimaced before fishing them out. He returned the messy glasses to his face and grinned cheekily at Aziraphale. Crowley scrunched his nose as he tried to follow Aziraphale’s hand up into his hairline. The manicured hand came back with several pieces of eggshell.</p><p>“Wonder how that got there,” Aziraphale smiled.</p><p>“Haven’t the faintest,” Crowley smiled back.</p><p>Aziraphale turned to hide a blush as he grabbed a whisk for Crowley to begin the topping. “Do try to be a bit neater this time.”</p><p>Crowley’s smile faltered as he took the whisk. “Sure, angel.” They worked in silence until they set the pie to bake in the oven. “How long do we wait?”</p><p>“Nearly an hour, I would say.”</p><p>“In that case,” Crowley held up the bottle of what was indeed an expensive red. Forty-five minutes later, an angel and a demon were absolutely sloshed in the middle of a bookshop. “I bet,” Crowley slurred, “I bet you could put some of Belbze– Bubzl– Behbulibuah–”</p><p>“Beelb– Bezb–” Aziraphale tried to help.</p><p>“Fly dude’s flies in your cake,” Crowley finished.</p><p>“It’s, it’s a <em>pie</em>,” Aziraphale muttered. “And there are no real bugs in it.”</p><p>“Then why’s it called shuffly?”</p><p>“Shoofly,” Aziraphale corrected, sobering up slightly as he heard a timer begin to ding.</p><p>“Mmm, wha’ever,” Crowley gestured wildly with his arms.</p><p>“Americans,” Aziraphale shrugged. “They have strange names for things.”</p><p>“I once… I once had these two American buggers call me Cr-OW-ley, not CROW-ley. Like, they said ‘ow’ like I’d schmacked ‘em or something.” He hiccupped as the timer rang a second time. “’S that the cake?”</p><p>“Pie,” Aziraphale mumbled, sobering up a bit more. “Sober up, dear, and let’s eat.”</p><p>Crowley let out a whine and Aziraphale left him in the den to do his business. The demon sauntered into the kitchen a moment later looking a bit worse for wear. “Better be worth me getting sober,” he muttered.</p><p>“I like to think my company isn’t all that intolerable,” Aziraphale smiled as he served Crowley a slice.</p><p>Crowley scoffed. “Most of the time it isn’t.” He took a bite of the warm molasses and hummed. “You’re right, this is pretty good.”</p><p>“Why, yes, I’m glad you–” he paused and frowned. “Most? Crowley, what do you mean <em>most</em> of the time?”</p>
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